On Privet Drive
by GraveDigger Resurrection
Summary: Post OotP. Encouraged by worried comments and determined to protect Harry, three unlikely people find their way into Privet Drive for...a month Poor Snape! Slight ADMM
1. Welcome to Privet Drive

**Title: **On Privet Drive  
**Rating**: T  
**Genre: **Angst, Drama, and…is ridiculosity a category? No? Then let's go with absurd humor.  
**Summary: **Post OotP. Encouraged by worried comments, three unlikely people find their way into Privet Drive for...a month (Poor Snape!) Slight AD/MM

* * *

Dumbledore cut him off with an amused chuckle that sounded exactly like the word 'defeat' to Snape. "Come now, Severus, you know what the boarding program requires. Mr. And Mrs. Dursley specifically said that three people would be invited to stay in there home for a Fort-night. If memory serves correct, we are nearly there. Don't you think, Minerva?" The older man turned to his fellow professor, rubbing rather uncomfortably at the deep navy suit he was wearing, his beard tucked snugly in the hem of his pants.

Minerva McGonagall nodded, peering sternly as ever over her spectacles, though the effect was somewhat lessened by the flowered dress she wore, and the fact that her long hair billowed down freely behind her. To say the students of Hogwarts would have fallen over in shock was an understatement. "Yes, Albus. We'd better stop here and change."

The trio pulled to a stop, as Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I suppose we should." He sighed then, fingering his beard almost reluctantly.

McGonagall actually smiled at this, patting the headmaster's arm while Snape rolled his eyes. "It won't be gone, Albus, just...temporarily hidden."

Dumbledore sighed again with a nod and a rueful smile. "Ah, the foolish sentiments of an old man, Minerva. But, I have been growing this beard since I first began teaching. It is such a pity to cover it up..."

McGonagall's stern gaze returned at this. "Honestly Albus, the boy would recognize you in seconds!" She paused for a moment, regarding her companion's contrite expression with suspicion. "And Albus, while we are there, you are going to have to forgo some of your more..._peculiar_ habits. Which includes--" her eyes narrowed further, "offering people lemon drops."

Dumbledore looked slightly crestfallen at this, which McGonagall almost believed before seeing the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. She glowered, and snapped "Cover up the windows, Albus, we don't want the Muggles seeing."

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded, pulling out his wand, and flicking his wrist ever so slightly. Up and down the street, the windows of the identical houses misted up, as though clouded by a sever fog. He put his wand away, and clapped his hands together, smiling wider still. "Well then! Let us proceed, shall we?"

"Yes, please, let's get this misery over with as quickly as possible," Snape growled.

McGonagall turned to him then, frowning in concentration. She held her own wand at the ready. "Let's see, Severus. You'll have to look younger, of course. About twenty, I'd say. So..." she paused for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing to slits in effort. "Shorter hair, I suppose, and blue eyes instead of gray, that would give you away right from the start. Take twenty years off your face, and twenty pounds off your stomach-"

"Pardon me?" Snape snarled, interrupting her.

Her gaze got, if possible, even narrower, and she hushed him roundly. "Silence, Severus, unless you want me to cut your nose completely off. It needs to be a bit narrower, more like Albus', for resemblance." She took a deep breath, and lifted her wand a bit higher. "Here we are, then. Apperencius Alterio Totalis!"

Snape was covered in a thick, misty blue light for a moment, before the cloud of magic around him disappeared, leaving him to reemerge as a completely different person. Dumbledore nodded his approval. "Excellent work, Minerva, even _I _hardly recognize him."

The unfamiliar man who now stood before them scowled suddenly, in a way that was still decidedly Snape-ish. "Well? What do I look like?" Snape was actually rather nervous about his new appearance, more so than he wanted to admit. It would be just like Minerva to make him look like an ugly pig.

McGonagall smirked at this, knowingly, and a mirror appeared in front of Snape at a muttered word from her. He could hardly contain a strangled shout. In the mirror was the face of a rather handsome twenty-year old, with dark blue eyes and spiked black hair, a prominent, thin nose and a strong jaw. His abs weren't half-bad either.

After a moment, he looked up with a resentful stare at Minerva, and mumbled "Good."

McGonagall smirked again, knowing that was high praise from him, and turned to Dumbledore. "Now, the beard has to go, obviously, but maybe I'll leave you with a reasonable goatee. The eyes have to be a shade darker blue to dull that..." she paused a moment, for wording. "that _twinkle _you always have. And the hair will have to be much darker, a silver black perhaps. And your features need softened too, as I'll be taking a good seventy years off. You'll be about 55, I suppose. Now," she closed her eyes this time, and repeated the incantation, handing Albus the mirror silently.

This time, the mirror reflected a man with short pepper-gray hair parted to the right, with almost baby-blue eyes and a short, well-trimmed goatee. He frowned for a moment, stroking the remnants of his magnificent beard. Then, he glanced up at McGonagall, and saw her look. He smiled then, seeing she more than approved. "So, what do you think, my dear?"

McGonagall blushed, and replied with a stiff "You look fine." Then, she turned her wand on herself, muttering the same incantation. The blue light faded, and Snape ogled while Dumbledore actually gasped.

Before them stood what looked to be a fifty year old woman with shining light blue eyes and deep chestnut hair streaked with gray that fell gracefully about her shoulders. Her features were softened, the crows-feet gone from the corners of her eyes, leaving behind a stunningly attractive woman.

She looked at herself quickly in the mirror, pulling of her glasses and putting contacts in with a wave of her wand. Dumbledore had done the same, she noted with a glance, because his glazed expression was even more noticeable. "You'll catch flies," she told him tartly, fighting a blush.

"You look magnificent, Minerva," came his reply, rather breathlessly. Albus Dumbledore had not been struck breathless in several years, and then it had been by her, too. Her blush became even clearer at his words, and from Snape's expression, he seemed to be on the verge of vomiting.

"Now then," she said, clearing her throat rather unsteadily. "Voice charms. Albus, I'll have to make yours a bit smoother." She flicked her wand, and murmured, "Vocum Alterio"

"Well, I do believe this will do a nice job," Dumbledore said, his voice slightly deeper now that the rough edges of age had been taken off of it.

McGonagall just nodded, and turned to Snape, obviously settling back into her stern business mode. "Now, Severus, if you'll simply speak _normally_, instead of attempting to be a moody Sybil Trelawney, your voice will be perfectly fine." He glared, but she paid no notice, pointing her wand at her own throat, and murmuring the same incantation.

"Well, let's continue on, then. It won't do to be late," she said in a slightly higher voice with a much softer Scottish accent than before. "Undo the windows if you would, Albus."

The older, (but now younger) man nodded readily, and the windows were soon returned to their normal states. As was Snape's mouth, apparently.

"Now, tell me, I implore, Albus. Why are we doing this? Why must I suffer through a month of Potter-worship?"

Albus smiled at him, the infuriating twinkle still in his eyes. "Severus, you are aware that Miss. Granger attended the last meeting?" Snape nodded--fortunately the Order hadn't needed him for that one, and he'd managed to miss the bushy-haired know-it-all. "She expressed some concern about the letters we have been receiving from young Mr. Potter. Both she and Mr. Weasley were under the impression that something was amiss, and Remus concluded, as did Molly and Arthur."

Snape huffed at this, his mouth curling up in distaste. "So you are attempting to tell me we that are gallivanting off in this utter _tomfoolery_ based solely on the intuition of two corrupted children, a werewolf and a pair of-"

"Watch your words, Severus!" Dumbledore's tone turned sharp. "You shall have to trust my judgment on this subject, as I trust theirs. Now, to review: we will be the Kingston family from a missionary station in South Africa where we've lived since before you were born. I am Andrew, Minerva, you are Camille, and Severus, you are our son, Ashley. We are-"

He was cut off when Snape promptly turned an ugly pallor and choked on his tongue. "Ashley? But, but that's a girl's name! I don't believe I..." but he trailed off as he absorbed the other piece of information. "_Son? _You mean I'm going to have to go around calling you..._Mummy and Daddy_? Good Merlin, kill me now."

Albus chuckled. "Yes, Severus, _son_. I believe however, that you are old enough to simply say Mum and Dad, as opposed to those other delightful titles. Of course, if you prefer them, by all means feel free to..." he trailed off with a wink that was chewed up and spit out by Snape's indignation. He went on, unperturbed. "And Ashley, is a fine name. My father's name, actually."

Snape sputtered for a moment, appearing torn between his Greasy Bastard!sneer, and an expression of rather contrite apology. Eventually, he settled on a scowl, and a mutter of: "I apologize, Headmaster, I meant no offense..."

Dumbledore smiled contritely. "'tis no problem, Severus. He absolutely abhorred the name, and went by Ash. I feel certain that would better suit your tastes." At Snape's quick nod, he grinned. "Well then, we must be going, only a few more houses now."

The trio soon arrived in front of the quaint, immaculate house that was Number 4 Privet Drive. Dumbledore took the lead then, strolling cheerily up the front walkway, followed by a rather soured Severus Snape, and an anxious looking Minerva McGonagall.

Just before knocking, her turned to them, his expression suddenly somber. "I believe Ms. Granger if she says something is amiss, but am doubtful as to what we may find. It is most likely simply that young Harry is grieving the loss of Sirius, as we have all seen the state of Remus as of recent weeks. However, if something is wrong," he hesitated, but seemed to find no better phrasing. "I'm afraid I am in a bind to wait the full month before we can take action."

"But-- but _why_, Albus?" gasped a shocked McGonagall. "If he's ill, or, or heaven forbid suicidal, he could-"

She was silenced when he held up a hand, his expression suddenly weary. "Unfortunately, I am in no position to argue with Cornelius Fudge at the moment. He is the one who set up the laws in interacting with Muggles through exchange programs, and it would be most unwise to disobey them when we have only so recently regained him as our ally."

Snape's frown deepened even further at this. "I have said it before, and I will say it again, Headmaster: Having that bumbling, incompetent, _fool_ as our ally is simply not worth--"

Again, Dumbledore interrupted. "And I will, once more, give you the same answer, Severus. It is not befriending Fudge, but befriending his own allies that is so important to us. And as he is the Minister of Magic, it is safe to say he has quite a few of them." He sighed. "You are correct in your thinking, Severus. As much as I dislike speaking ill of him, he is rather useless in protecting anyone. His friends, however, are another matter. I greatly regret this, especially if Harry _is_ in danger, but the regulations _must_ be upheld." He looked at McGonagall who sighed and nodded her understanding, and then glanced at Snape who was once more scowling and looking as if he couldn't care less.

With a smile, Dumbledore turned, and knocked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Earlier that day, the residents of Number Four, Privet Drive, were also preparing for the arrival of their borders from South Africa.

Petunia Dursley was primping her horse-like face in the front-room mirror, compulsively straightening her silk blue dress that showed off her form, and her money. Vernon Dursley stood beside her, tugging his tailored suit and cummerbund and examining his blotchy, bloated face in the mirror, while brushing his bushy mustache with a comb. Meanwhile, their son, the pride and joy of their world, Dudley, was standing behind them, his great body bulging out on either side of them, yanking on his tie with disdain, and whining about having to comb his hair down.

On the bottom stair a few feet away from them sat a lanky, skinny boy of about 6 feet. This new found height was rather dampened by the fact that he was, as always, swimming in hand-me-down clothes that were seventeen sizes too large for him. His raven hair stuck out all over as it always did, and his bright green eyes gazed wearily out through his thick round glasses as he watched his "family" prepare.

All of a sudden, Vernon, or "Uncle" as the boy was forced to call him, turned to him, is pudgy face going purple with rage as it always did when he looked at his nephew. "_Boy." _He snarled, not waiting for a response. "You will _not_ show your face to our guests. You _will_ rise early each morning to cook breakfast, come quietly in at noon to fix lunch, and do the same for dinner. Then you _will _go back up to your room and I _will_ lock you in for the night. If anyone so much as smells you, I'll make you wish you were _never_ born! _Is that clear?"_

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

His uncle's eyes narrowed at his easy agreement and his lips pulled back in a snarl, causing spittle to fly from his mouth with his next words. "And Boy! _I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY OF YOUR UNNATURALNESS UNDER MY ROOF WHILE THEY ARE HERE!_" His voice dropped to a deadly quiet. "I won't have them knowing there is _freak_ under my roof. Do you understand me?"

The boy sighed. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"Hurry, Vernon, dear, they'll be here any moment!" Petunia screeched, shooting the boy a death glare.

"Go, Boy! Upstairs, in your room, and _silence_!"

Harry Potter was gone without a word.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dumbledore's third knock hit midair as the door was flung open wide by...what looked to be a blob of living, breathing mush in a suit and tie. "Good afternoon, Sirs, Madame," The blob said in nasal tones. "Won't you come in?"

A glance back at Snape told Dumbledore that the younger wizard would most certainly _not_ like to go in. McGonagall didn't look too positive, either. He turned and smiled pleasantly at the blob, and said, "Why yes, young master, thank you!" He grabbed Snape's wrist and surged forward, McGonagall trailing reluctantly behind.

Once inside, they were met by a portly man with a hideous mustache and no neck. Beside him stood a horse-like woman with twice as much neck as usual, and to both professors Snape and McGonagall's horror, Lily Potter's green eyes.

"Messieurs and Mrs. Kingston! I'm so glad you arrived safely! I hope the bus ride was enjoyable?" Roared the man Snape silently dubbed as Mr. No- neck. He grabbed Albus' hand, and proceeded to crush the life out of it, doing the same for Snape, before kissing a nauseous-looking McGonagall's hand.

"Welcome to our home!" came the piercing, shrill voice of the woman McGonagall had titled "Horse-face." The students of Hogwarts would have all died from cardiac arrest at their professors' creativity. "I'm Petunia, and this is my husband, Vernon, and our _darling_ son, Dudley," She said, pointing to the object all three utterly mature teachers had dubbed "the Blob", with a large smile that frightened Snape immensely.

"It's wonderful to meet you. I am Andrew Kingston, and this is my lovely wife Camille, and our son, Ash. Thank you _so _much for letting us stay in your beautiful home!" Dumbledore smiled politely, all the while wondering how Lily was related to these..._people._

"Think nothing of it, my good man! Your bags arrived yesterday, and are already in place upstairs. Dudley will show you to your rooms-I'm sure you'll find them acceptable. Then you can come downstairs for a nice lunch. Go on, Dudley!" Vernon smiled proudly at the blob, who nodded.

"Right this way, if you will, please," he said with the utmost politeness as his father put a crisp ten pound note in his fat hand. He proceeded to thump up the stairs, making the entire structure shake. Dumbledore caught McGonagall by the waist before she went tumbling backwards, and grinned at her, ignoring Snape's dark cursing.

They reached the top of the landing, and soon saw a total of 5 rooms. Walking down the hall, it was clear that the first was the lavatory, and the second Vernon and Petunia's room. They came to the third room, and Dudley pushed the door open to reveal a large, cluttered room filled with every sort of expensive toy money could buy, most of them broken and mangled.

"This will be your room, Mr. Kingston," he said looking at Snape, who struggled valiantly not to sneer in a most horrible manner. "Your bags are on the bed. You can stay here to...to" his eyes glazed over suddenly, and he frowned, trying to remember his rehearsed lines.

"freshen up?" Snape snarled finally, and the fat boy nodded, looking slightly frightened. "No, no, I don't think so. I'd prefer to see..." He momentarily choked on his tongue again, before managing to slur "Mum'n'Dad'sroom" He let out a breath, and tried to smile, grimacing instead while Dumbledore chuckled.

Dudley shrugged. "Fine." He was apparently running out of script. Across from Petunia and Vernon's room, was a rather weathered wooden door with a total of five padlocks on it, and a small cat-flap cut in the corner.

"What's in there?" McGonagall asked sharply, a frown crossing her face, and a worried suspicion settling in her head.

Dudley had obviously been fed an answer for that too, as he promptly said, "Just a load of old junk, but Dad keeps his gun in there, too, which is why we keep it locked."

"Five locks for a gun?" Snape asked, a confused sneer upon his features. He thought perhaps he'd misunderstood the concept of that particular Muggle weapon. He was also preoccupied with trying to find where Potter was.

Dudley looked nervous then, and mumbled a quick, "Y-yes, it's his favorite gun, I mean, it's a very expensive one, er, your room is right down here!"

They followed after him, McGonagall shooting a worried glance at a now grave-looking Dumbledore. Dudley pushed open a door at the other end of the room, revealing a queen sized bed, surrounded by pictures of dogs. "Here's your room, Mr. and Mrs. Kingston, your bags are in the closet," Dudley announced, smiling so that his eyes disappeared completely under the wrinkles of his fat cheeks. It looked painful.

"Er, yes, thank you, young man," McGonagall said haltingly. She looked like she was in pain as well, though the expression was more likely one of disgust.

Dudley had run out of rehearsed lines. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, kicking at the ground, and staring stupidly at the three guests. Snape's eyes rolled so magnificently that McGonagall was surprised they hadn't popped out of his head and gone skittering across the floor. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and spoke kindly to the lost Dudley. "Why don't you go downstairs and give us a chance to get settled in? We'll be down in a flash." Dudley nodded stupidly and mumbled something incoherent, before turning and tottering heavily out of the room.

McGonagall's brow was furrowed. "You never mentioned Harry's cousin was...a bit off, Albus," she said, finally.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Ah, alas, he is not, Minerva, though Arthur Weasley was inclined to think so. It was a very mirthful group of Weasley children, accompanied by Miss Granger who set me straight. He is perfectly healthy in his mentality, and is simply a 'great fat stupid oaf' to quote Ronald Weasley." He appeared to be trying not to laugh. McGonagall just sighed.

Snape was looking around the room at the photographs. He stopped when he got to a picture of a large woman who appeared to be either cuddly or strangling a ferocious looking dog in her chunky arms. Snape smirked. "I recognize that dog. That woman is an excellent judge of character. Let the mutt run Potter right up a tree once." McGonagall glared at his back.

Snape turned around suddenly, sneering most unpleasantly at McGonagall's glare, before turning his attention to Dumbledore. "And where, pray tell, is you beloved Potter brat? Too high and mighty to grace his unworthy guests with an appearance, I suppose?"

"Or maybe just locked up and hidden away," snapped McGonagall angrily.

Snape arched a brow, coldly. "Oh really? Please, Minerva, I'm simply _dying_ to hear what enthralling excuse you have to put to the boy's defense _this_ time."

Dumbledore cut in before she could respond. "You noticed the door we passed with the locks on it, Severus?"

Snape's other brow rose. "The morbidly obese one said it was to keep his father's gun safe."

"Oh, _honestly_ Severus, five locks for a stupid Muggle weapon?" McGonagall asked sarcastically.

"Now now, Minerva, we've no proof yet," intoned Dumbledore calmly, but his eyes were no longer twinkling. "Though...I must admit, Miss Granger's concerns seem to be gaining substance."

"Wait," Snape said, his sneer growing even more pronounced. "_Surely_ you can't think _Potter_ is what was locked behind that door?"

"Not quite the hero-worship you were expecting, Severus?" McGonagall's now blue eyes flashed at him fiercely.

"Actually, Minerva-"he was cut off by Dumbledore's sigh.

"Enough, you two. We should go downstairs. I expect Petunia and Vernon will be waiting. Now, don't forget who we are. You-"he said, pointing to Snape, "are a chemist. That is basically a Muggle Potions Master--"

"I am _quite_ aware of what a Chemist is, thank you ever so much, Albus," Snape bit out.

Dumbledore gave him a mild look. "Of course, Severus. Just say your work is tiresomely complicated, and that the isolation of isotopes in the chemicals you're working with is really dull at the moment." Snape tried to look as if any of that made sense, and nodded.

Dumbledore turned to Minerva. "You teach English in the local school. Simple enough, but don't answer any questions in too much detail, because it will make it harder to keep the story straight." McGonagall nodded agreeably.

"And what will your occupation be, Albus?" She asked him.

"Ah, well, _I _will be a Professor of anthropology studying the cultural roots of the small village in South Africa." He smiled at her slightly.

"Why do you get to keep the title 'professor'?" Snape asked, perturbed.

"Because I have been one for more years than I care to count," he said simply. Snape was not satisfied. "Well, Severus, if you really must know, it's because I said so." McGonagall gave a snort of laughter at his words, while Snape glowered. Dumbledore offered his arm to McGonagall. "Shall we?"

She blushed the tiniest bit, and nodded stiffly, taking his arm and traveling back out into the hall. Snape trailed behind, grimacing and muttering darkly under his breath. Yes, more darkly than usual, even. Still, all could not help but look at the padlocked door as they passed, each giving it a worried glance, though Snape would dress up in a fluffy pink tutu and sing 'I feel pretty' before he owned up to it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They arrived downstairs to find the almost eerily immaculate dining room ready and waiting, with the Dursleys already seated, and Harry nowhere in sight. Three seats were open for them, and after a brief battle of scowls and glares with McGonagall, Snape ended up sitting next to Dudley.

The meal began as pleasantly as could be expected, Vernon asking about their jobs and their life in South Africa, which the answered easily enough, having been well-coached by Dumbledore along with some help with Professor Parsons, the Muggle studies teacher.

Snape barely touched his food, scarfing down what he did eat with uncanny speed. Sitting next to the Blob was not only making him ill, it was making Potter look like a decent kid, which was saying something as it was, after all, Snape. So, having lost whatever appetite he might have possessed, Snape spent the rest of the meal shooting nasty looks at everyone in turn, though making sure no one caught him, lest McGonagall come after him with her tartan handbag. He often mused she kept cans of catfood in it for a snack.

Finally, at long last, everyone was through, even the piggy little Dudley, who managed to consume 6 sandwiches and half a bag of crisps, though he distinctly avoided the salad and pasta. "You must be exhausted," Simpered Petunia, rising from her seat with an overly large smile. McGonagall's cheeks hurt just watching.

"Yes, I do believe we are all a bit tired from the trip," Dumbledore said pleasantly, rising as well and helping McGonagall to her feet.

"Ah, go up and sleep it off then, old man! Dinner'll be at five, and we can get you started on tours and things tomorrow!" Vernon roared heartily, having downed his fifth shot of mulled mead. McGonagall's lips thinned in disgust. This was only lunch, for Merlin's sake! What was the sod going to consume at _dinner?_

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea, Andrew," McGonagall intoned, thinking absently that she much preferred Albus. Snape simply rose silently, fighting his quivering lip that wanted so desperately to curl up into a magnificent sneer.

"Shall I show you up to your rooms?" The quivering lump of fat wheezed from his moaning, creaking chair.

None of the three had any desire to be shaken about by the rumbling ground again. "No!" came the tripled reply.

"Thank you, young master, but I'm sure we can find our way back," continued Dumbledore, the first to recompose himself. He then looked at Vernon and Petunia with a polite smile. "Thank you so much for the excellent meal. As all three of us are exhausted, I doubt we will be down before dinner, if you can forgive us for our rudeness."

"Not at all, not at all!" Petunia cooed, in a tone that suggested she was actually very pleased that she would be rid of them for several hours. "Shall we wake you for dinner if you are not down?"

"Oh, yes please," McGonagall answered already dreading the next meal. Snape was unusually silent, trying to follow his word and stay away from his normal sneering attitude. He seemed as though he might go catatonic before this was all over.

The three of them made their way up the stairs, pausing again at the padlocked door. There was, as before, no noise emanating from the other side. Once they had reached McGonagall's and Dumbledore's room, the spoke of it again. "I'm worried, Albus. Potter isn't anywhere in sight, and that _ghastly_ door is the only one we haven't seen behind."

Dumbledore looked at McGonagall wearily, the lines in his face seeming suddenly deeper than before. "That is…not precisely true, Minerva."

McGonagall had known Dumbledore long enough to be worried. "What exactly do you mean, Albus?"

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate for a moment, before speaking softly. "There is one more place I would advise we look, though I would much rather he was not there."

"Where?" Snape cut in, sounding for the first time, slightly interested. He couldn't wait to find the Potter boy asleep in his own luxurious room, not even bothering to greet the guests. He _knew _Minerva was cracked, with all her gibbering about poor treatment and misery.

Dumbledore gazed at him a moment with pain-filled eyes, before letting them drift shut. "The cupboard under the stairs."

Snape let a snort escape him. "_Excuse _me?" he asked, incredulously. The old man's marbles must have finally rolled out his ears, then.

Dumbledore sighed, and turned away from him, to sit down on the bed. Minerva might've sent the Potions Master a truly nasty look, but was too busy staring at Dumbledore, aghast. "The…the _what_, Albus? What on _earth_ are you talking about?"

"Exactly what I say, Minerva. The cupboard under the stairs." He opened his eyes again, and looked at Snape calculatingly. "Severus, don't tell me you weren't aware that is where he spent ten years of his life?"

Snape finally relaxed his muscles, his lip stretching luxuriously into its comfortable sneer. "I think Minerva must have done more than alter your looks with that spell, Headmaster," he said coolly.

"Well, apparently it didn't change anything for _you_, Snape! You still have no brains to speak of," Mcgonagall snapped back, looking quite severe. She whirled on Dumbledore. "There is more explaining to be done than that, Albus."

He gave a rueful smile. "There often is. It is something I only learned after the last meeting, from a concerned Ronald Weasley. Apparently, Harry slept in a cupboard under the stairs until he received his first Hogwarts letter. Mr. Potter only told Mr. Weasley of it after a nightmare sometime last month, and the next morning did not seem to remember it, according to Ronald. Mr. Weasley also seems to believe Harry has never told anyone before."

McGonagall gaped at him, pale. "W-what? _Albus, _Albus _why _wouldn't Potter have _told_ anyone about this? It-- it's simply incomprehensible that--"

"I believe, Minerva, he thinks we already know."

"_What?_"

Dumbledore turned his eyes down to the bedcover beneath him. "The enchanted quill that writes and addresses each letter would have listed his specific location. The first letter Harry ever saw would have said _the cupboard under the stairs._ No doubt he does not know the quill alone keeps tabs on such things. No doubt, he believes we were aware of the situation, and did nothing."

McGonagall seemed to sway a bit, her hand rising to her forehead. "Oh Merlin."

"Yes. Of course, this is information I rather think I ought to have been given months before." He looked up at Snape, who suddenly felt the room grow rather chilly.

"What are you implying, Headmaster?"

"I am implying, Severus, that after 5 months of Occlumency, a memory like that is something you ought to have come across. And something you ought have reported."

Snape stiffened, indignant and wounded. "I saw no such memory in the boy's shallow mind, Headmaster," he hissed. "Although, his moronic skull is so thick, it is _entirely _conceivable I never--"

"_Severus._" The two Wizards looked at each other, one with molten heat, and the other with a vague chill.

"Would you like to see for yourself?" Snape demanded quietly.

"No," replied Dumbledore, finally. "I continue, as I always have, to believe you, Severus." The tension in the air lessened palpably. "But we _will_ be having a discussion about your teaching methods in regards to Mr. Potter when this is all said and done. This is something you should have seen."

Snape tightened his jaw, but said only "Yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore appeared satisfied for the time being, but Mcgonagall's building ire was less than appeased. "How could you _not_ see something like that, Severus?" She cried. "What were you _doing_ with Potter? Five months mucking about his brain and _none of us knew of this?_"

"You try '_mucking about his brain'_, Minerva," Snape said dryly, having regained his calm. "The sludge in there is so thick, it's a wonder the boy's lungs get the message to continue breathing."

"The only place there's _sludge_, Severus, is the black hole where your heart ought to be," Minerva snapped.

"Oh," Snape said, actually looking upset. "Minerva you've wounded me. Right--" His hand moved to his heart. "Oh…pity, it doesn't seem to be there to wound, does it?" He smirked at her. "Never mind, then."

She swelled furiously. "Severus, you miserable, _cold_--"

"I really cannot handle this ridiculous bickering," Dumbledore observed calmly. "I would ask you to stop, but I understand we work in magic, not miracles, so I'll simply have to separate you." The two turned to stare at him. "Severus, go to your room."

Snape looked severely disgusted. "_Pardon? _I cannot be told to go to my room, Headmaster, I am _not_ a child."

"Might have fooled _me,_" McGonagall muttered, and Snape shot her a supremely nasty look.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore continued, "I am afraid that, for a month, you are indeed our son."

"As greatly as it pains us all," McGonagall added smugly. "Now, go."

Cursing in several different languages, Snape shot them both typically unpleasant scowls, before disappearing through the doorway, his metaphorical robes swishing sinisterly as he stalked away. Still not entirely mollified, McGonagall turned back to Dumbledore, ready to unleash more wrath on him. He seemed to be looking down in interest at the bed. It was then that McGonagall became quite thoroughly distracted.

There was only one bed.

"Oh...dear," she said, feeling slightly flustered. (And that word had never even been entered into her vocabulary prior to this incident.)

Dumbledore looked up at her, looking faintly bemused. "I see you have noticed the problem as well, Minerva?"

She sighed, her gaze skittering around the room, searching desperately for some solution. She looked quite cornered. "Well, I could always sleep as-"

Dumbledore shook his head. "What if one of our hosts should come in? Seeing me in bed with a strange cat and you nowhere in sight? I'm afraid not." He stroked his goatee, looking a tad bit miffed when he ran out of hair a the bottom of his chin. At length, he spoke again. "I suppose I could always sleep on the-"

"Albus Dumbledore, you most certainly will not sleep on the floor!" McGonagall replied severely. "It's unheard of, not to mention how bad it would look if they came in and saw. You think a _cat _would be bad..."

Dumbledore sighed, looking more amused by the moment. "Well then...there appears to be no other course of action.

McGonagall opened her mouth, planning on giving him a diatribe of quite a few things he could do with himself rather than sleeping in the same bed with her. But, as none of them were appropriate, and she needed her job, she simply shut her jaw with a click of her teeth. Dumbledore grinned at her, throwing himself backwards comfortably onto the right side of the bed, and patting the space beside him.

Throwing him the nastiest look she dared, she crawled in beside him, resting as far on the other side as possible, her back rigidly facing him. It was going to be a long month.

* * *

_A long month for all. McGonagall, Dumbledore, Snape, you, the poor, misguided reader, and me, the already insomnia-filled author. And let's not forget poor Harry, shall we?_

_Drop me a review if you find the time! Thanks for Reading!_


	2. Things That Go Bump in the Night

_**A/N:**__ This one's a bit short, but as the third chapter's already up, I don't feel too horrible. This chapter travels away from the mildly serious first chapter, instead plunging into absolute, ridiculous fun. Well. __**I**_

* * *

"Good evening, my dear Professor," came a cheerful voice, abruptly stopping her in the process of attempting to scrape off her tongue. Torn between trying to let the floor swallow her whole, and hauling off and hitting him, she merely settled for turning nine shades off crimson and looking anywhere but Dumbledore.

"I trust you slept well?" He continued mildly. Yes, hitting him was definitely a possibility...

She was saved from her mortification by the door suddenly bursting open, and Snape whirling in, walking in a funny sort of gallop that he always did when trying to make his robes spin, apparently quite forgetting that he had none.

"What do _you_ want?" McGonagall snapped, glad to have someone to glare at.

"Now now, Minerva, children are always supposed to be more agreeable after they've had their naps, aren't they?" Dumbledore asked brightly. But what to hit him _with_, she wondered…

Snape, for his part, appeared to be slightly embarrassed, and muttered, "I got bored." He waited, aware how sullen he sounded. McGonagall let out a snort.

"Oh, _poor_ Severus, I'm sorry, were you pouting because we sent you to your room?" She asked with a smirk.

Actually, this was _not_ The case. He had been perfectly fine, thank you very much...until he had played with all of Dudley's toys. Then the boredom set in. "I never _pout_ as you so elegantly put it, Minerva," He said sharply, attempting to keep the petulance out of his tone. Surely his youthening in appearance had not changed his maturity levels? "I simply wanted to let you two..._lovebirds_ have some time to yourselves without forcing me to watch." There, that sounded nasty enough.

McGonagall wrinkled her nose in distaste at his comments, but managed not to flush. At least his younger appearance had not lowered his maturity level any. It was still that of an eight year old, as opposed to a six year old. He mouth was open to tell him off, when Dumbleore cut in.

"Ah, yes, well we do appreciate that Severus, thank you." Both of them turned to him so fast, their necks cricked, both looking suitably horrified by what he had said. Fighting a chuckle, he went on. "It was rather good timing of you, as I think Dudley will be back up here any moment to rouse us."

Snape rolled his eyes at this, and again McGonagall was impressed with their ability to stay in his head. "For Merlin's sake, Albus, I don't think we can _survive_ a month of this torture!" He sneered. "I can only _imagine_ how disgustingly sweet they are going to be with the Potter brat around."

"Severus," McGonagall cut in angrily, and Snape was reminded forcibly of her cat form. "Don't you _dare_-"She broke off abruptly, startled by a dull thud against the door-- though the sound was obviously trying to be muffled-- which creaked in horror at the weight that was pressing down against it.

All occupants of the room stood in baffled silence for a moment before Snape strode quickly across the room, turned the knob, and swung the door open. In fell something that looked like a beached whale, or perhaps just a frighteningly obese child that had just been caught listening in on a private conversation. He stared up at them all, his eyes wide, before opening his mouth.

"Uhhhnnnnnnn..."

"You broke him," McGonagall said to Snape, looking disconcerted. Snape looked from the lump on the floor to McGonagall, to Dumbledore, and back to the lump, appearing vaguely concerned.

"I...I didn't _break_ him!" He finally spluttered indignantly. Dudley continued to open and close his mouth like a wounded guppy fish. He wasn't so sure...

Dumbledore just smiled benignly, going over to the boy, his eyes twinkling kindly. "Oh, hello, young master, so nice of you to come and get us for dinner. Are you quite alright?"

Dudley, it appeared, _did_ have a brain, even if its size was rivaled by that of Crabbe or Goyle's. He quickly rolled to his feet, his legs shaking under his own weight. All three were glad he had accomplished this on his own, as they didn't think they could have managed it themselves, even between the entire trio. One does not simply pick up a baby elephant, after all. "I, uhm...tripped," he said lamely, his nasal tones forced from his body in a wheeze of air. Even Dumbledore cringed.

He recovered himself quickly, however, putting his senile expression back into place and nodding amiably. "Of course, of course." He shot a warning look at Snape (He sometimes wondered if the man was aware he had a tick in his left cheek) and gave McGonagall a commiserating glance.

Dudley was frowning at them, peering up in such a way that suggested he was either concentrating extremely hard, or had a bad case of constipation. "Why were you calling him Severus?" He asked McGonagall, in a tone that might have suggested shrewdness but for the emptiness in his eyes.

"That is...my middle name," Snape intoned rather quickly, his voice unnaturally smooth. "How long were you out there?" His tone was cold enough that even Dudley knew not to lie.

"O-only for a sec-c-cond," Dudley mumbled. "I t-tripped when I got to the door."

At Snape's dismissive nod, Dudley wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Severus is a gross name."

'_And you are a disgusting child'_ was the unanimous though silent response.

"Is...dinner ready, then?" McGonagall managed to say, careful to keep the noise of her grinding teeth to a minimum. They had been in this house less than twelve hours, and already she was questioning her sanity. At least the brainless blob hadn't heard anything more.

"Uhh..." Dudley thought for a moment, his face contorted in concentration. Picasso would not have done so well. "Yeeeaaahhhh..." he finally glubbed out, not sounding very sure. Apparently finding his job finished, he turned without formalities, and waddled out of the room, turning sideways to get through the door.

Three dread-filled people were left in his considerably wide wake, glancing at one another in horror of what was to come. Dinner. A collective shudder ran around the room.

"We are going to have to more careful," Dumbledore said after a moment.

Snape could hardly contain the _'Duh!' _he wanted to respond with, instead nodding tightly, as did Mcgonagall. "I agree, Headmaster," He began smoothly.

"It was foolish to speak my true name so loudly, if anyone really cares to keep up this charade. Which, I might add, I have _no_ wish to-"

"Severus, do everyone a favor and be _quiet_," McGonagall snapped, irritated at her slip. "Or throw yourself out the window for that matter! Then we could declare it a national holiday."

Snape fought the sudden urge that welled up inside him to stick his tongue out and waggle his hands beside his ears. "Dinner then," He snarled finally, stalking darkly out the door. "And _you_ are sitting beside that little Muggle horror tonight, my dearest _mum_," He snarled over his shoulder, smirking in revenge. One Dudley was always word a thousand words. (Or pounds, as it were.)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dinner was an unsurprisingly horrible affair, as was breakfast and all the meals for the next four days. Vernon got more drunk at dinner than he did at lunch, Dudley and his mother got into a screaming match over his diet ("But I'm _starving_ Mum!" And then "Oh my poor Duddikins! My Poor baby is dying! But I can't!" and the always refreshing "Oh Merlin, I'm gong to go make myself the most lethal potion I can. The only question is who to off first: them, or me?")

There was also a liberal amount of touring, Vernon explaining in an importantly loud voice that he had taken a whole week off for them to do a large bit of site seeing (Dumbledore found this particularly boring, as he had been around when some the sites had been _built_) and that he wouldn't be able to take any more time off after this. ("Pity" Snape sneered as innocently as he could.)

They finally reached that Saturday evening (having arrived on Tuesday), more than a little shocked to find themselves in one (if not bedraggled and jittery) piece. Snape was on the verge of swearing to be nice to the painful nuisances he had to teach, if only to get out of this nightmare. In between bouts of stricken panic due to nerves, McGonagall had a vague hope they would stay here long enough for him to actually make the statement. Even Dumbledore was beginning to seem unintentionally barmy. And still, there was no sign of Harry.

"Ye Gods," Snape moaned, Slumping into a heap on Dumbledore and McGonagall's bed that Friday night. "The entire bloody afternoon, touring _King's Cross _of all things. Don't think even Binns could have stretched the bloody thing out that long!"

Shoving him off unceremoniously, McGonagall curled up at the head of the bed, leave Snape in a dejected heap at the foot. "Ye Gods yourself, you ignorant sod, at least _you _didn't have to walk the entire thing with _high-heels _on," she snarled irritably. "Idiotic Muggle fashions should be outlawed. I would dearly love to know what _disease_ is eating away at the minds of Muggle women these days…"

Dumbledore seemed oddly refreshed and just smiled at them, telling them to shut it before he hexed them both. (OK, so 'refreshed' was a bit of a relative term now) "It really wasn't the worst day we've had. At least young master Dudley was unable to accompany us."

Snape snorted derisively, feeling that having the moron around might have at least provided a bit of entertainment. (He made no move to rise from his new spot on the floor during these happenings)

His mouth was open to tell the Headmaster something that was not very nice, even for the 'greasy haired potions master,' but was beat to it by McGonagall.

"Oh get stuffed you insufferable old coot!" McGonagall practically growled. "You're just at peace with the world because you got a lemon drop from one of the train conductors! Where's my bloody lemon drop, eh?"

Dumbledore took a step back from the bed, looking nervous. "Well, if you'll remember, Minerva...he _did _offer you one..." He began delicately.

"That's _beside_ the point Albus!" McGonagall spat acidly, her stern tone not at all dissipated by her new appearance. Snape watched in amusement, though he remained silent, knowing better than to open his mouth. For once.

Dumbledore began to stroke his goatee, a nervous habit of years ago, watching his 'wife' warily. "Er...Minerva, my dear...you, do not seem to have been sleeping well, my dear. Perhaps..."

"YOU _SNORE_!" Came the enraged response.

Dumbledore frowned, though he tried to remain complacent. He knew for a fact he did not snore, as Frederick Gethiliad, a portrait on his wall, had congratulated him on the fact not even a month ago. "Minerva...my dear professor, I am afraid you may be mistaken-"He tried, flinching to ward off any blows.

Snape found this amusing enough to let it continue all night, and had no intention of telling anyone the truth about the matter. However, in having this thought, he forgot to remain silent, and let out a snort. Suddenly, the anger of the cat lady was upon him, in all its horrible wrath with...a _pillow?_

"Aurgh! Minerva, have you lost your mind? bugger off you crazy old bat!" He snarled, trying to ward off the blows. A moment later he considered that a 'crazy old bat' might not have been the best thing to call her, as a particularly violent strike sent him back flat on the floor. He decided quickly to spill he beans. "It's the Dursleys who snore!" he said, his voice rising into a squeak as she hit him in the stomach.

McGonagall stopped, though not of her own free will. Dumbledore had stolen her pillow. Curses, she had been planning to do him in next! Coming to the now constant conclusion that money _was _a necessary part of life, and small part of her did not really want to do grave damage to him (well...not _really_) she did not go after her pillow, simply turning to attempt to fry Snape into the ground with her glare, which he would not have protested to at the moment.

"They still keep me up," She grumbled finally, a light blush coloring her cheeks. Truth be told, it was the fact that they had seen hide nor hair of Harry (no pun intended.) since their arrival that kept her eyes open and her mind whirring in the darkness of the night. But she was not about to say so in front of Snape and give the greasy git another chance to insult the boy.

Dumbledore chanced opening his mouth then, surreptitiously placing the pillow behind him as he did so. (It did not do to take any chances after all.) "Yes, I have heard them at night myself, although I must admit I have been losing more sleep over concern for our young Mr. Potter."

Now that he had said it, McGonagall felt free to continue on the vein. "Goddess! Albus, what are we going to _do?_ We have not seen him this entire time, and…and for all we know...he...he could be injured." She didn't dare say dead, though she thought it.

Dumbledore looked grave at this, but Snape just sneered. "Lay off the melodrama, for Morgan's sake, Minerva!" He spat. "Even...even if the boy _is_ locked in that room, _which I doubt_," he added quickly, seeing the triumphant expression beginning on her features, and determined to stamp that look out like a nasty bug. (Too bad he couldn't actually do that to her face, he mused absently.)

"So you think he's in that thrice damned cupboard, then?" She asked, an unspoken challenge in her voice. _Do you _hope_ that?_

Snape stared back at her, coldly. "Are you going deaf in your old age, Minerva? For I'm quite certain I said nothing of the sort." He sneered. "At any rate, I hardly doubt he's injured. For all we know, the arrogant prat has _asked_ to be locked in, so he can stay in his own pampered solitude, and not be disturbed by the presence of such insignificant beings such as ourselves." He still though they both had a few spells loose in their heads, worried about stupid, _spoiled_ Potter. There was absolutely no possible way the idiot boy could be as bad off as they thought. It was preposterous, absurd, and too image-shattering for Snape to even consider.

He had no more time for Potter-bashing, however, as the pillow suddenly reappeared from out of nowhere and began beating him soundly around the head. Dumbledore stood dazed for a moment, wondering how she had gotten around him with such speed, before remembering to pull them apart. "Enough, you two, _enough!_" He said sternly, managing to once more procure the once innocent household item from McGonagall's deadly grip. "I have had quite enough of your bickering! As I have explained more than once- more than _dozen _times, _we can do nothing_ and your inane, childish bickering is doing nothing to help Harry, whatever state he is in, _and even if he is not requiring our help_," he continued dangerously when Snape opened his mouth.

Dumbledore glared soundly at the two of them for a moment, pondering how it seemed more like he had two children than a spouse and a son at the moment. (Both of whom were now stock still and pin-drop quiet.) Finally, he turned to Snape and said calmly, "Goodnight, Severus."

Snape stared at him for an uncomprehending moment, before nodding dumbly. "Er...right." and leaving, forgetting to open the door on his first try out into the hall.

Dumbledore then turned back to a now chagrined McGonagall, who was studying the dull carpet with extraordinary interest. "Minerva?" He ventured quietly after a moment, pausing to check that he was still standing on the pillow.

"I apologize, Albus," McGonagall said quickly, feeling more than a little foolish for her slip in control. Attacking Severus with a pillow..._honestly! _The nutcases at Privet Drive were obviously affecting her more than she had realized. Not that the snarky slimeball hadn't _deserved_ it, of course, but still...

She was startled by a gentle pat on her shoulder. "It is fine, my dear." There was silence, and she finally forced herself to meet his eyes. They were twinkling in fondness and that ever present (irritating, but lovable all the same) laughter. "Severus's comments towards Harry are indeed out of line-"

"Too right they are!" McGonagall burst out. Of all her Gryffindors, the Weasley's, Hermione, Harry, and even Neville were her soft spots, but Harry held a particularly gooey place in her heart. "Honestly, that man! Who does he think he-"

Dumbledore cut her off. "However, assaulting him with a pillow is perhaps, not the most agreeable way to silence him, wouldn't you say?"

Again, the carpet became simply fascinating, and she managed to mumble out an, "Again, I apologize, Albus," before the flush in her face turned two shades darker.

Dumbledore gave a little chuckle, patting her warmly on the shoulder again, before gathering his things to go change in the bathroom. "Just so you know, I will be speaking with Severus tomorrow about his behavior. And," he paused in the doorway. "If no significant progress is made in determining Harry's state of being within the next two days, I think some 'accidental discovery' may be in order." And with that, he wandered to the lavatory, leaving McGonagall slightly more at ease than before.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Snape opened his eyes, blinking blearily at the lit numbers of the night table clock. 2:30 in the morning. He was a practiced light sleeper, but he also typically slept through the night if undisturbed. So what had woken him up, then? He had quickly tuned out the Dursley's incessant snoring, so that could not have been it.

He sat up. Surely to God it wasn't Minerva and Albus...? He gagged. Some thoughts were simply too revolting to even entertain, even if he was not entirely against a relationship forming there (if he was really honest with himself, which was rare.).

He sat in the darkness quietly for another three minutes, hearing nothing. Perhaps a Muggle thing then? A car or a Tevlyvisin?

He was about to lie back down when the noise came again. A soft, muffled moan, almost like a whimper. Snape turned pale at that, but quickly realized it was not _that_ sort of moan, but instead...it was one of fear. And pain.

Potter?

He didn't move, his ears straining to hear. At least his spy training was still good for _something_, even if he was no longer able to fill that position. The Dark Lord had begun to suspect him at the beginning of the summer, and Dumbledore had forced Snape to get out.

It didn't take long for the noise to be heard again, a little louder this time, and then again, louder. After a moment, a "No!" slipped out from the darkness, from a voice full of terror.

_Potter?_

Finally, Snape did rise, slinking silently to the closed door of his room. His hand was on the knob when he heard it. A shout. "NO! NOOO! STOP! YOU CAN'T!" and then a wordless yell, more like a scream.

Snape was ready to rip open the door, when he heard a door being flung open, and another being yanked ajar, and two figures stumble out into the hallway, one cursing, and the other hushing shrilly. The Dursleys. He stayed where he was.

He heard locks being undone, and decided to ignore the fact that Minerva had been...right. He heard yet another door being shoved open, Vernon still grunting curses as he stormed heavily into a room.

"NOO! SIRIUS! PLEASE, NOT HIM! NO! PLEASE!"

Potter.

And then, there was a dull sort of thud, and silence.

* * *

_Hmm. Wonder what happened. So sorry we all had to wait three years to find out. My bad. (You know…the kind of bad that starts nuclear wars.) But now? Surprise! **a new chapter!** No, I mean it. Seriously! Go look for yourself! Oh, and Thanks for Reading!_

**Goldilocks-** AURGH! NO EVIL EYE! IT BURNS IT BUUURRRNNNS ::falls out of chair and dies:: Uh Oh, you killed me. Now you hafta review for another chappie! (ah, the wonders of blackmail...) I appreciate your review more than I can say, as my poor ego actually came out of its musty corner the other day, and quit its dejected whimpering. Thanks so much for the other reviews for my stories, and I'm really glad you enjoyed the first chapter of this fic.

**Krys -** precisely, my dear, Snape must suffer, but we love him anyway. And, you may suggest just how evil the Dursleys should be, and yes, I hope Snape is very sorry for his misjudgement of Harry. ::Shakes finger at naughty Potions Master:: OK, friend, here's my update...where's yours? And no promises on the puppy dog eyes ::grins::

**Tolerancelevels-** well, thanks to yours and several other's reviews, I indeed shall go on. There was a bit more sneering in this chapter, but as it was sort of a filler, Snape may have some more...uhh...sneering constipation soon. No pun intended. (Was that even a pun::grins::) Anywho, thanks a lot for the review!

**K230156-** hmm...I'm not sure I even really had a background story for that in mind, though I could include it if you want it. I would welcome suggestions, and thanks for the encouragement! (Harry's well-being remains rather touchy)

**Im so innocent- **/slightly/ hooked? Whaddya mean you're only /slightly/ hooked? Hrmph...well, we'll just have to see about that::snickers:: Thanks!

**AvengingKitty- **You should be proud that yours was the first review that inspired a flame of inspiration in me to continue this work. Thanks so much for the encouragement, as I'm hesitant at stuff like this.

**Mara Weaves - **thanks for the suggestions, I am seriously considering the Snape/Ash one as the 'ultimate discovery' but I don't know...I am looking forward to the next chapter now too. When will it be out. ::blinks:: What do you mean /I/ Have to write it first? Something seems amiss here... ::winks:: thanks again!

_Drop me a line if you find the time, yeah? Thanks!_


	3. This is the Boy

_**A/N: **__May I just take a moment here to say: __**OMFG A NEW CHAPTER!**_

_But seriously. I owe a simply **tremendous **bout of thanks to all of you who kept the reviews coming. It took, quite literally, years for this story to work its way back into my heart, but every little nudge from you helped it along the way. Here's to hoping this difficult little bastard isn't too awful, yeah? That being said: On with the Show!_

* * *

Neither Dumbledore or McGonagall had fallen asleep that night. They had both lain very still on their backs for hours, staring up in the darkness, listening to the horrid wheezing, groaning _dying_ noise emanating from the Dursleys' rooms. Finally, at 2:24 in the morning, the crick in McGonagall's neck became intolerably uncomfortable, and she turned onto her side with a huff, staring at Dumbledore, who stared back.

"How can they _make_ such horrific noises for so _long_, Albus?" She whispered to him. "Shouldn't it _hurt_ them?"

Dumbledore looked back up at the ceiling, with a ponderous expression on his face, and McGonagall waited for some wise words of reassurance. "You know, Minerva…" He began after a moment. "I really haven't the foggiest."

McGonagall responded with a quiet, heartfelt noise that sounded vaguely like: "uhhhg."

Dumbledore hummed softly, "Yes, well."

They lay in silence for a moment, McGonagall with a pensive expression on her face. "Albus…" He looked over at her, waiting. "Albus, what…what if…"

"Ah, yes, the 'what if'. Closely related to 'if only' and a distant cousin to 'why didn't'." He smiled at her, kindly. "Cities have been built on 'what ifs' Minerva, but I suspect that all yours are doing are keeping you awake."

She frowned. "You were supposed to tell me he will be alright, Albus."

"I'm trying this new practice, Minerva, where I don't tell people things merely to make them feel better and hide the truth from them." He closed his eyes for a moment. "It's a lesson Harry taught me quite well at the end of this year, I'm afraid."

McGonagall had seen the wreckage in his office to understand him well enough. She sighed, and he sighed, and they were quiet for a short while, listening to the bone-rattling snores and grunts of their hosts. Listening for a single noise from Harry Potter. McGonagall sighed again.

"Minerva?" She looked over at Dumbledore, to find him looking at her earnestly. "Harry _will_ be all-"

"No!"

They both froze at the quiet, terror-filled cry. Seconds ticked by, their hearts pounding in their ears. And then: "NO! NOOO! STOP! YOU CAN'T!" followed by wordless yell, much more like a scream.

"_Merlin," _McGonagall breathed, and Dumbledore was already rolling out of bed, wrapping his bathrobe around himself, and stalking to the door. She hurried to follow him, reaching him just as he opened the door an inch.

At that moment, another door burst open, and in the darkness, they could see two figures stumble out into the hall, one cursing darkly, and the other making desperate, shrill hushing sounds. Dumbledore and McGonagall watched as the Dursleys made their way across the hall to the door with the locks, Vernon fumbling furiously with a fist full of keys.

They stayed, watching and frozen, as Vernon undid the locks, and slammed open the door, still grunting curses as he stormed inside. McGonagall didn't even take the time to register the fact that she had, indeed, been right.

"NOO! _SIRIUS! _PLEASE, NOT HIM! NO! PLEASE!" The cry was much louder now without the door. Much more gut-wrenching.

And it was followed almost immediately by a dull, heavy thud, and eerie, total silence.

_Harry._

In an instant, Dumbledore surged forward, striding out into the hall, McGonagall on his heels. The air around Dumbledore was frigid as the pair stalked across the floor and into the now-opened room. With a swift motion, Dumbledore flipping the switch so hard it almost broke off, throwing harsh yellow light down on the scene before them.

Petunia shrieked, the curlers in her hair bobbing as she jumped. Vernon whirled around, his blotchy purple face going pale as he saw them. And Harry Potter lay on the bed, propped up on one arm, and clutching at his stomach with the other, making very quiet wheezing noises and wincing.

The group stared at one enough for an endless second, the silence ringing in their ears. Vernon and Petunia were obviously trying to think of what to say that would possibly make this look less horrible than it did, while Dumbledore and McGonagall attempted to find something to say that _wouldn't_ strike the Dursleys dead in an instant.

" 'M sorry if I woke you." The four adults blinked, trying to judge who had spoken. After a moment, they all looked down at Harry, who was squinting up at McGonagall and Dumbledore with a look of contrite apology. He also happened to be very pale and shaking.

"Are you alright?" McGonagall asked him, making to step towards him, but Dumbledore's hand on her arm held her back.

"He's fine," Vernon said brusquely, his mustache twitching. "This is…this is our nephew, Harry. He's a troubled boy-- a bit of a delinquent, and he doesn't do well with strangers. We felt it best…" He trailed off uncertainly in the face of their incredulous stares.

"The boy has fits," Petunia took up, her voice unnaturally high. "Got them from his worthl-- from his father. Sometimes it's nearly impossible to wake him up."

The two continued to stare.

"But he's harmless, really, I assure you!" Vernon took up. He looked around at them all, twisting the end of his mustache between his fingers anxiously as he cleared his throat. "Why don't we all go back to sleep, and we'll explain it all in the morning, eh? It's almost three in the morning, after all! You and the missus must still be knackered, my good man!" He smiled nervously, his chest stuck out in false bravado, sauntering forward to usher them out the door, as if his false confidence would make them believe his words. "So sorry about waking you lot up! It won't happen again, _will it_?" He added, with a sudden snarl back towards the boy, who shook his head, and muttered a very soft "Sorry." again.

Petunia and Vernon continued to shuffle forward, forcing McGonagall and Dumbledore to back out into the dark hallway. With a final dark glance back into the room, Vernon shut off the light, and closed the door with a soft _snick_, before turning nervously to face them. "Well!" He declared, bouncing on his heels. "Goodnight, then!"

McGonagall's mouth was hanging agape, and she could think of absolutely nothing to say or do in response. With a very blank expression, Dumbledore took her gentle by the arm, and said, evenly, "Goodnight." Before turning them both around and leading her back to their bedroom. She barely caught the swift shake of his he sent towards the pair of obsidian eyes glittering at them from the barely-open door down the hall before they were back in their room, and Dumbledore shut the door quietly behind them. The jangling of keys started up again, though muffled. They were locking the boy back in.

The next word out of McGonagall's mouth was so utterly foul, Dumbledore felt his ears try to turn themselves inside out. He thought maybe he ought to reprimand her, but the truth was, he happened to agree.

With a great, heavy sigh, he tugged on her elbow again. "Come on, Min, let's go back to bed."

She whirled on him, incredulous. "_What_?" She hissed. "How the _bloody hell_ can you be thinking of going to _sleep_ after what we just saw, Albus? After--" She stopped, swallowing thickly. "Oh, _Merlin._"

"I know, Minerva," He answered solemnly, leading her gently back to bed. She stared at him, lost, even as they laid back down.

"He _hit_ him," she whispered. "That horrid man _struck_ the boy! Albus, Albus, we've got to _do_ something! I--I…was that the first time?" she raised her voice, leaning up a little. "_Was that the first time, Albus?_"

"I've no way of knowing, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, looking suddenly rather ancient even despite his youthened appearance. "I…would imagine not, however. Harry…did not appear terribly surprised."

"How did none of us _know_ about this, Albus? Not even Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger, surely, or they would have _told--_"

Dumbledore shook his head slightly, and she trailed off. "Harry Potter has spent years surprising us all, Minerva. I…I just don't know." He looked over at her face, obviously pale, even in the darkness. "We can do nothing tonight Minerva. The best thing to do is rest so we might be alert tomorrow."

"But _Albus! _We can't just…" His expression was quite plain. There really was nothing they could do. "Oh, Harry," she sighed, closing her eyes in a pain they both felt.

They fell into a deep, worried silence, listening to the ticking of the clock on their nightstand, the occasional horn honking far off in the distance. The Dursleys' snores remained absent, even after the witch and wizard dropped off into a troubled doze, waiting for morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In a room down the hall, a man and woman paced worriedly back and forth. "My _God_ Vernon!" The woman whispered, her horse-face drawn with panic. "What are we going to _do?_ What are we going to _tell _them? This is an absolute disaster! They'll report us, they'll--"

"They'll do nothing of the sort!" Vernon harrumphed, crossing his massive arms over his barrel chest. "Not so long as we tell them _exactly_ what we'd planned to. And we _have_ planned for this, Petunia, because we're no idiots-- we _knew_ the worthless boy would cause us problems!" His voice rose alarmingly at the end of his speech, but a frightened glance towards the door from his wife quieted him. "Those Kingstons are a load of duffers, Petunia, mark my words! They'll believe what we tell them."

"They've _got_ to, Vernon," Petunia whispered, ringing her hands as she sat down on the bed. "Those people, they-- they'll never understand what it's really like. They'll never understand what it's like to actually have to _live_ with the boy!"

Her husband came over to pat her comfortingly on the shoulder with a meaty hand. "Quite right, Petunia. They could never understand what we've had to go through. Living day in and day out with that miserable boy's damned _unnaturalness!_ _That's _why we've got to tell them something they _will_ understand."

"What if they _don't _believe us? We can't let them report us," Petunia whispered, shutting her eyes. "We can't let that _freak_ do that to us. Or to our Dudley. They must believe us, Vernon! We _can't_."

"And we won't Petunia. We'll tell them our story, and they'll believe it, because the most important part is the part that's true: that we're only doing this for the good of the family!"

"Yes," She said, finally, as he sat down beside her, and the mattress sagged weakly. "We can't let that boy destroy our lives any more than he already has. They'll believe us. For the good of the family."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus Snape hated being wrong. If there was anything he hated more than being wrong, it was being _really_ wrong. And, possibly, Voldemort.

But Voldemort had nothing to do with this. Being _really_ wrong, however, did.

Snape sat on the edge of his bed, tense and wide awake. He'd not seen much from his vantage point in the doorway, but he'd certainly heard enough. That great, ghastly, neck-less excuse for a Muggle had struck Potter. Struck Potter, then tried to convince Dumbledore and McGonagall that everything was fine. Those _stupid idiot Muggles_!

Snape was a fan of mental lists. It's how he remembered so many potions, and how he managed to remember everything he had to do to not get caught out as a spy in the Dark Lord's ranks. He had endless lists inside his mind, the most familiar of which was one titled _"Reasons I Hate Potter._"

It was not a terribly long list, but it was altogether convincing as far as Snape was concerned. It went something like this:

_1. His name is Potter_

_2. His father's name was James Potter_

_3. His Godfather was a miserable mangy Marauder mutt._

_4. He is in Gryffindor_

_5. He is a spoiled, pampered brat who was doted on by his friends, fans, and family for something that he didn't even really **do**._

_6. He isan arrogant, strutting prat._

_6.5. Just like his father._

_7. He is terrible at Potions._

Yes, it was a very convincing and quite sound list. The only problem being, perhaps, that numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.5 really had nothing to do with Potter, so much as the people _around _him. 6 and 7 were, of course, _entirely_ the idiot boy's fault. Entirely.

Irritated, Snape rose and began pacing. So maybe number 5 on his list would have to have the word _'family'_ taken out of it. But, after all, there was no proof that this wasn't a one-time thing. Yes, it would be _just_ like Potter to provoke his uncle while Snape was their, just to make the older wizard think Potter was _nicer_ than he was, and that not everyone _liked_ Potter, which was, of course, preposterous, because Potter was: '_6. an arrogant, strutting prat,' _and _everyone_ loved him, and…and Snape suddenly realized he was babbling entirely incoherently right inside his own head.

_Damn._

But there were still quite enough reasons to hate Potter to be getting along with. After all, he wasn't the first child to be struck. And really, _Snape's_ father hadn't been the nicest man in the world either, and who _cared_ if Potter got knocked around occasionally, because maybe it would finally knock some _sense _into the reckless, preposterous, idiotic boy, and oh look my feet seem to be quite tangled in the bedspread, and--

"Bollocks!" With that oath, Snape found himself quite suddenly on the floor, landing hard on his elbows, and staring back accusingly at the bedspread wrapped around his feet. They looked back at him, quite without apology. "_Bollocks_!" He said again, with feeling. The room was silent, having no response for his sulky outburst. Inside his head, however, he hear a familiar answer.

" '_M sorry if I woke you." _

Snape scowled darkly at the floor, because those words were what was _really _bothering him. He'd have had no problem neatly ignoring the whole thing if only Potter hadn't had to go and be _so. bloody. nice. About it!_

Because Potter's sleepy, apologetic words completely shredded numbers 5 and 6 on Snape's list, and threatened to go about destroying Snape's personal motto: number 6.5.

_Just like his father._

Snape laid his head down on the carpet with a noise of disgust. This was not the way things were supposed to be going at _all_.

" '_M sorry if I woke you." _

"Damn it _all_," Snapped hissed into the carpet fibers with feeling. Once more, the floor really had no response.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry Potter sat on his bed, staring out his window at the starless sky, and rubbing gingerly at his stomach. Tonight had been rather eventful for him, to say the least, and not in a very good way, either.

But, Harry thought to himself, at least now he might not be locked up _entirely_ for the next three weeks. And that, after all, was something.

He sighed a little to himself, curling his knees up to his chest, and watching faithfully out the window for the first hints of morning still hours away, missing Hogwarts and his friends dearly. Missing Sirius.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The following morning was bound to be awkward and difficult for a number of reasons. One reason Snape _hadn't_ counted on, was being found asleep on the floor by McGonagall and Dumbledore, his feet still wrapped up in bed-sheets, drooling on the carpet.

McGonagall's very out of character "Wakey, Wakey, ickle Snapey!" Was in terribly poor taste, in Snape's opinion, as was her digging the point of her shoe into his side.

"I rather need my ribs, thank you, Minerva," He sneered, sitting up, though effect was somewhat ruined by the small puddle of drool under his chin.

"Ew," Answered McGonagall, poetically, and he glowered at her, wiping his mouth.

"Simply _delighted_ to see you two looking so terribly alert and enthusiastic this morning," he drawled after a pause, casually untangling himself from the bedclothes and rising to his feet.

This was actually the furthest thing from the truth. Both McGonagall and Dumbledore were pale and washed-out, shadows hanging heavily underneath their eyes with no magic to conceal any of it. Snape himself looked a bit pastier than normal, which McGonagall was quick to let him know, finishing off with: "Old cream-cheese, Severus, that's _exactly _what you look like!"

"I'm partial to strawberry jam on bagels myself," added Dumbledore nonsensically, looking at the ceiling. The other two stared at him for a brief moment, before Snape gave him up as a bad job, and glanced at the clock. 7:35. Nearly time to go downstairs and face the strawberry jam and bagels, along with the certain ridiculous explanations from those fool Dursleys for last night's fiasco.

The expression on McGonagall's face showed a similar train of thought. "We ought to talk, Severus."

"Coherently, Minerva? That would certainly be a first for you."

But McGonagall didn't rise to the bait. "I'm serious, Severus." And, in equal seriousness, Snape happened to agree.

Dumbledore, however, was the first to speak. "I agree with you, Minerva, however," he sighed. "Now is not the time." Again, McGonagall and Snape stared at him, rather incredulously. "We need now to go down and see what is being done about the situation by the Dursleys, before we can determine what actions we ourselves are taking. We can do nothing more until we have talked to them."

Dumbledore was not accredited with being the smartest wizard of his time for nothing; they both knew he was right.

McGonagall sighed. "Gods I hate eating with those disgusting people."

Snape, who rather agreed with her, feeling that by the end of his stay she might not have _needed_ to charm those extra twenty pounds off, sneered in a mildly pathetic way. "Sod eating, Minerva. I simply hate _existing_ with those putrescent people."

"Eloquent as always, Severus," Dumbledore said with a rather tame smile. "Well," he sighed, "let's be going on then, shall we, Minerva? I trust you'll join us once you've dressed, Severus?"

Snape nodded. "Of course, Albus." With a tip of his head, Dumbledore went out the door, McGonagall a few steps behind him. Snape's mouth was open before he'd really thought. "Minerva."

The witch paused in the doorway, looking back with one brow arched. "Severus?" The '_I told you so'_ pranced about haughtily in the air between them.

Snape heaved a sigh, worried his tongue might rebel at his words and attempt to beat a violent retreat down his throat. "Minerva…You…you were…"

"Right?" McGonagall asked, her expression flat. "Yes, Severus, but then, I often am."

Snape winced. "I…I am--"

"Sorry?" She asked loftily, "Yes well, hearing it from you may be something of a surprise, but the actually _fact_ should come as no shock to anyone at all, seeing as--"

"For _Merlin's Sake_ woman! Let me finish a bleeding sentence, would you!" Snape drew himself up with a sneer, his apology entirely fleeing his mind. "I was _going_ to say you were 'a brainless, idiotic _Gryffindor,_ and would you _please_ leave my room _immediately_' followed by: 'because I am rapidly losing what little sanity I have left by merely _being_ in your brain-damaging, coma-inducing presence!"

"Of course you were, Severus," she answer with a small smirk of her own. "And next you'll be winning the Hogwarts' Staff Annual Congeniality Award, won't you?" His sneer widened, and she actually laughed, before shaking her head at him. "Do you think you'll ever attract a woman with that expression, Severus? If that's really what you think," She heaved a mocking sigh. "I'm afraid you'll simply have to hope someone likes you for your brains." She paused, winced, and said, "How rude of me, Severus, I quite forgot you haven't any."

And with that, and another evil laugh, she disappeared from the doorway, leaving Snape to gape after her. "You lecherous old _bint!_" He finally managed to call, but she was already quite gone. "Bullocks," he muttered sulkily, and set about getting dressed for the miserable day to come.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When McGonagall and Dumbledore arrived in the dining room, they were rather startled to find all three Dursleys sitting at the table, while a surprisingly cheerful Harry Potter dished eggs out onto their plates.

There was a highly awkward silence as McGonagall and Dumbledore stared, and the Dursleys fidgeted in a manner that suggested they were either feeling very guilty or very bloated. Harry merely continued piling eggs onto three more empty plates, before issuing a pleasant, "Good Morning!"

"Good morning yourself," Dumbledore responded cheerfully, much quicker on the uptake than Mcgonagall, who merely blinked.

Vernon cleared his throat suddenly, and Harry jumped the tiniest bit. "W-won't you sit down?" He asked them the smile on his face turning nervous.

He held their chairs out for them as they sat, doing the same for Snape as he came down, which was really quite lucky, because Snape's surprise at the action meant that, instead of his customary and all too familiar sneer, his mouth instead dropped open slightly, leaving him with the air of someone who'd inhaled a bit too much of the smoke in Trelawney's tower.

After they were all seated and served, Harry slipped over to stand silently beside his uncle. The Dursleys immediately began to eat, and Dumbledore made several abortive attempts to speak, always overpowered by the gnashing, ripping, slobbering sound of Dudley's chewing. Snape began looking rather queasy.

Once Vernon was quite positive none of his guests would be eating until there was some introduction, he put down his fork with a noise that suggested a part of his soul had just been ripped from him. "Well then, I suppose I ought to introduce you to the bo-- to _Harry_." Both uncle and nephew winced at the unfamiliar word as it came from his mouth. Vernon cleared his throat again, a very long, drawn out process in which he sounded like he might choke, and McGonagall dearly hoped he would. "Ahem! Er, well. This--" He made a vague, jerking motion in the Harry's general direction. "--is Harry Potter, our nephew."

All three professors glanced courteously at Harry, who was watching their reactions with heavy intensity, and then opened their mouths to reply to Vernon, but before they could get so much as a "drop dead" out of their throats, Petunia hurried on. "My sister's boy-- they were killed in car wreck some years ago." Again, they opened their mouths to express their condolences, however false, but again, Petunia hurried on, her horse-face pinched and bitter. "Her husband was a worthless drunk. He should never have been driving, but then, responsibility was never either of their strong suits."

Their mouths stayed open this time, and Snape wondered vaguely if maybe it wouldn't just be easier to unhinge his lower jaw and leave it there. Behind Vernon, Harry made a sudden movement, a jerk or twitch of some kind, and when they looked, the wizards and witch could see the dark anger in his face even as he forced his expression to remain calm and even.

"It is very sad, of course. The boy…Harry…apparently inherited his parents lack of moral code," Vernon rushed on, seizing their gaping shock as a prime opportunity. "We've done the best we can for him, of course, giving him the food off our table and the clothes off our backs and the roofs over our heads. We've sent him to the best school for _his_ type, given him all that my family can possibly spare for him."

Apparently, Dumbledore mused, glancing at Harry's face, Snape was not the only who had developed a tic.

"With all our care and patience, we've tried as hard as we can to make the boy respectable, but there's only so much you can do against such _abnormality_ in a character!" Vernon sighed convincingly. "The boy's a bit off, with his fits and nightmares, I'll admit, and he's delinquent, yes. But we've made _damn_ sure he's not a dangerous one!" He finished this with a fist against the table, making the dishware rattle alarmingly. Petunia put a comforting hand on her husband's arm, and he seemed to try to collect himself.

"We can understand," Petunia began briskly, "if the boy's presence makes you too uncomfortable to stay here. That is why we were trying to keep him out of your way as much as possible." She leaned forward as she said this, as did Vernon, their gazes fierce and sickly earnest in a way that begged: _believe us, believe us._

Dudley took this opportunity to steal the remaining food from his father's plate.

McGonagall could feel a very strange, hot pressure building behind her eyes, and wondered if it was actually possible for one's head to explode from an intake of too much sheer _stupid_. Dumbledore was very, very still beside her.

Snape was actually the first to collect himself, turning to his 'parents' smoothly. "He seems harmless enough, Dad," He said, with only the tiniest, miserable hiccough over the last word. "And I really don't fancy going all the way back to South Africa this soon."

Dumbledore suddenly snapped back to life, a sunny smile beaming from his face, as he nodded in agreement. "Yes, I quite agree! No worries at all, Vernon, none at all! He appears polite at any rate, wouldn't you agree, Camille?"

McGonagall, still counting the seconds and waiting for her entire skull to blow up, was slightly startled. "Er…y-yes. Yes, of course, Andrew, I hardly think we need to _leave_ because of him." Both witch and wizard tried desperately not to wince at the cold, callous tone of her words.

"Well then!" Dumbledore said brightly, his eyes drifting merrily back to the Dursleys, "I see no problem with-- Harry, did you say? None at all."

For a moment, disappointment flickered in Vernon's eyes, and Petunia closed her eyes for the briefest instant. When she opened them, her food was already on Dudley's plate, too, being shoveled into his mouth at an alarming rate. "Good, good!" Vernon said, rather belatedly, and without quite enough enthusiasm. "So glad you feel that way! We were _so_ upset at the idea you might take off with your lovely family just because of a mild upset like this!"

There was an awkward pause, before McGonagall managed a wooden smile. "Not at all." She glanced down at her food, then back up at Harry, whose blank, even expression appeared to be made of rather sick-looking granite. "Won't Harry be eating, then?"

"He's not hungry."

"He's on a special diet."

Vernon and Petunia spoke at the same time, before glancing nervously at each other, and letting out squeaky, unsettled laughs.

"He's never hungry at normal times," Petunia said, her voice stilted. "He's on a special diet because of all his…"

"Allergies," Vernon supplied quickly.

"Yes. And the food makes his metabolism rather strange, so he'll likely never be eating with us."

"Ah, of course," Dumbledore replied pleasantly, but his eyes held no twinkle at all, and McGonagall and Snape exchanged startled, dark looks at the blatant lie from the Muggles.

"Well then, let's get down to breakfast, eh?" Vernon asked loudly, with a hearty, horribly fake chuckle. Seeing nothing else that could be said, the three professors nodded agreeably, and looked down to begin their meals. Only to find that all their plates were empty.

At the far end of the table, Dudley, his sizeable breasts dusted with masticated eggs, let his spoon fall to the table with a clatter, and let out a loud belch. "I'm hungry, Mum!"

Vernon let out a sincere bellow of laughter, leaning over to clap his son on his massive, massive back, roaring "That's my boy, Dudley!", while Petunia sighed, and glared back at Harry with a hiss off "Go make more, boy!" before turning back to her son and husband, and wringing her hands at the fact that, for yet another meal, Dudley had entire thwarted his diet.

For their part, Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore stared from Dudley to their plates and back again, in nothing short of wonder. "How the _hell_ did he _do_ that?" Snape whispered incredulously out the side of his mouth.

"Magic," McGonagall muttered flatly, and Dumbledore smothered his startled chuckles in his hand as Harry disappeared into the kitchen to begin frying up a new batch of eggs.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Immediately after breakfast, Harry disappeared up to his room, though the door was not locked behind him this time. The Dursleys seemed to have lost interest in their guests with ousting of Harry, and left them to their own devices for the morning, which gave the three plenty of time to fret before lunch.

"A 'Special Diet', eh?" McGonagall asked fiercely, pacing in front of Snape and Dumbledore who both sat on the bed in Dumbledore and McGonagall's room. "Since when are they calling eating _nothing _a 'Special Diet?' For that fat lump of a son of theirs, it might be a _necessary _diet, understandably, but for _Harry? _The boy's never been much more than skin and bones to start with, although now we obviously know _why--_"

"We have no proof they're starving him, Minerva," Dumbledore reminded her firmly, and even Snape knew to wince at this general faux pas of common sense.

McGonagall, eyes narrowed to the most violent slits, whirled on the older wizard, and told him precisely what he could do with himself. Dumbledore, appearing quite startled by this suggestion, proceeded to launch a discussion on whether or not her suggested feat was even actually anatomically _possible,_ or if it could be done with the aid of magic. Her hand twitched in the general direction of the pillows, and he stopped, mid-theory.

Once he was certain that _he_ was not going to be thrashed by a pillow _again_, Snape turned to the wizard beside him with an unpleasant sneer. "Albus, at this point in time, hoping for the best is, _at _best, foolish, and at worst, _dangerous_ beyond all sensibility. We've got to face facts here. Potter is most likely not being fed by those worthless bags of flesh he calls relatives."

"And all this from a man who, not twenty-four hours ago was _laughing_ at the idea that Potter was anything less than _worshipped_ by his family," McGonagall returned, snidely. There was a pause, both of them remembering the fact that Snape had actually tried to apologize to her only hours ago. "Not that I disagree with him, Albus," She said at length.

"Nor do I," Dumbledore answered, sounding abruptly exhausted. "But at times, a little optimism can go a long way, Minerva." He went on, as Snape opened his mouth ominously, "Of course, it's also been known to get men killed. So, for the time being, you are correct. We will stick with the most likely scenario, as unpleasant as it is turning out to be."

McGonagall sat down beside him. "How can we let this go on for three weeks, Albus? I can only imagine what else we'll discover before our stay is up…"

"If you'll remember, Minerva, Potter's been here quite a while longer than three weeks. The brat…Potter's lasted over ten years. I imagine he'll survive," Snape said.

The three fell into a morose silence, thinking of all the reasons Harry had spent so much time in the confines of Privet Drive. The reasons were endless, with each consequence and outcome seemingly worse than the last.

Finally, Dumbledore rose, his knees popping loudly. "The fact is, we could spend countless hours worrying and speculating, but at least for the time being, it will do, if I may be so frank, no bloody good at all." He walked over to the corner of the room. "And so, I think that you two ought to come over here and aid an old man in figuring out how exactly one works this delightful Muggle contraption," he said, fiddling with the knobs and buttons of a peculiar looking box resting on a stand.

McGonagall and Snape exchanged wary glances, before rising and following their wise and supposedly knowledgeable employer into the corner, just in time to hear the old wizard let out a delighted coo of excitement as a noisy moving picture appeared on the screen.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As was routine by now, lunch was exceptionally unpleasant, due mainly to the fact that half of what Dudley ate appeared reluctant to actually stay in his mouth. That was much improved after Harry, who waited on then silently again, noticed the disgusting display, and stood beside Dudley for the rest of the meal, blocking the three from most of the visuals and flying debris.

As lunch was being finished, Vernon wiped his mouth, and made an ominous 'hrmph' noise deep in his throat. "Petunia, Dudley and I will be going out this afternoon on family business," he said, mustache quivering.

"Where?" Dudley asked, his tone on the threatening verge of a whine, trying to grab another fistful of crisps from the bowl his mother continued to move farther and farther away from him.

"To your dieticians appointment, Duddikins," Petunia cooed fretfully. "He wants to see how much you've improved!" No one seemed to want to state the obvious about what exactly the doctor would discover.

Dudley managed to get the crisps through some utter defiance of laws of physics. Shoving as many as he could get into his mouth in one go, his expression turned dark and ominous. "I don' wan' do!" He keened, bits of salted crisps flying everywhere. Harry grimaced impressively as dozens of tiny, slimy flecks struck his arm, and Snape may have actually gagged.

"But Duddikins! You--" And Petunia and Dudley were off on another one of their famous, tearful, whining, wailing, miserably revolting rows. The others immediately tuned them out.

"So, we'll be leaving you alone with the boy for the afternoon," Vernon continued. "If you don't want the boy about, I can lock him in his room so he won't cause any trouble, or--"

"I really don't think that will be necessary," McGonagall interjected hastily, Dumbledore nodding beside her in agreement. She glanced over in time to see a look of utter relief pass over Harry's face.

Vernon shrugged. "Suit yourselves. But feel free to send him off anytime he starts to be a nuisance." His gaze cut coldly to his nephew. "It's about all he's really good for." Harry's expression turned cool and empty in response.

"Thank you," Snape said, without any real feeling behind it, though McGonagall shot him a warning nasty look all the same.

"Right then," Vernon said with a nod, and the vaguest hint of his boastful smile. He dropped the napkin to plate, and rose. "Come along Petunia, Dudley."

Petunia was, by this point, in tears as she negotiated pleadingly with the red-faced, yelling Dudley. Neither seeming to realize exactly what they were doing, both followed Vernon out into the front hallway and out the door to the car, pausing only for Vernon to snarl over his shoulder, "Clean up that mess, Boy!" Before the door banged shut behind them, and they disappeared.

And, thus, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Snape abruptly found themselves quite alone with a thin, pale, nervously smiling Harry Potter for the afternoon.

* * *

_Bit of an abrupt ending, maybe. But I'm excited to see what Harry and the Professors get up to, all alone in the house for the afternoon. Are you?_

_So, my plans are to update sometime within the next two weeks. Perhaps some of you will protest, but those of you who might have been waiting for this for three years now may be a little lenient with me. I solemnly swear that I **wont **__abandon this ridiculous fic again. _

_At the beginning of the next chapter, I'll have a brief author's note listing all the reviewers who encouraged me to bring this thing back to life. You guys mean a lot to me, and to this story. **Thank You.**_

_And drop me a review if you've the time, would you? Having written chapters one and two at age fourteen, and chapter three at age seventeen, I'm a bit anxious to see how things are received. At any rate: Thanks for Reading!_


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